Santa Tell Me
by astarothversacekimball
Summary: Santa tell Timor Leste and Astaroth. Timor LestexOC oneshot OOC Timor Leste


"Bruce!"

He doesn't answer you. The back of his head, hair already slick with seawater, moves further away from you, his actions in the water both graceful and efficient. It is one of the few areas in life that he is, truth be told.

_"Bruce!"_

You were screaming now, your voice a jagged shout over the soothing hiss of the ocean. Bruce's form grows fainter and fainter as he pushes out into deeper waters, the physical distance effectively severing all attempts at communication. You knew you could not follow him- you've never been an especially strong swimmer and with the sun inching further and further away, you'd be swimming blind in a matter of minutes. Still, you stand there uselessly on the beach, arms wrapped around you as chilly air sets in. Your toes clench between the damp sands, tears of frustration and hurt welling in your eyes.

"Fuck you, too!" you shout, childishly, knowing full well there's no way for him to hear you at that distance.

Truthfully, you want to rave and scream at how could he be so _selfish_, but wariness of who might be listening stops you, loyal even in your outrage. You stare out at the ocean, no longer even able to discern him amongst the choppy waves, wondering if that was his intention all along, or if he simply hasn't realised how far out he has already gone. It's not uncommon for him to lose himself in these waters that he loves and knows so well. You, on the other hand, you could just leave- walk away and go home, back to your warm house, yet some unknown force roots you to the spot. You want- need- an answer, no matter what it is.

You had initially hoped that perhaps by bringing Bruce to the beach, you might be able to put him in a good mood, tell him the news on familiar turf. Somehow, you thought that maybe Bruce being at his favourite place with you might be enough, that it might all be okay. Such is the logic of the desperate.

Unfastening the jacket wrapped around your waist, you back away from the undulating tide and settle in the soft sand, running a hand over your belly as you stare angrily out at the waves. Your stomach is still flat. Nothing feels different, yet you know that everything has changed. You wonder how you might look a few months down the line, but the picture won't form in your mind. The truth is, you have no idea what to do- you feel as lost and lonely as if you were the one who had plunged headfirst into the ocean…and the worst part is that while Bruce is free to indulge in a moment's denial by putting as much physical distance between himself and the problem as possible, you cannot. You will carry this choice with you wherever you go, and that kills you a little bit.

Will you keep this thing growing inside you? You don't know. The thought of whether or not you might someday have children had never crossed your mind- you had always dismissed yourself as being 'too young' to concern yourself with such matters. Your own exciting, unpredictable future was the chief concern to you- as it is to most people your age. Yet, the outrage and disbelief at your boyfriend's reaction to your news leaves you stunned…you had procrastinated on telling him, words choking you when you tried to talk about it before. But in the end, you knew that you weren't exactly being fair. Whatever you decided to do, he had a right to know. This is something that weighs heavily on your shoulders. All you wanted him to do was shoulder it with you.

_The love you lost with her skin so fair.  
>Is free with the wind in her butterscotch hair.<br>His green eyes blew goodbyes.  
>With her head in her hands.<em>

You know a lot about Bruce- he's brash, loud and a bit of an idiot at times…but he's also fun, sweet and he makes you laugh. But this is a side to him that you've never seen before, and you fear that you are out of your depth. That you are sinking.

"Bruce…" you whisper, tasting salt on your lips as tears slide down your already stiff cheeks, yearning aching in your chest. "Bruce…"

~

Bruce treads water, face tilted up towards the moon, his green eyes distant as he observes it, unusually reserved and passive. Thoughts clash violently against each other in his mind, each one darting away from him like fish before he can quite grasp it fully- since your fateful words uttered on the beach, only the repetitive motion of lapping the waves brought him comfort. Now that he has had time to process things in the dark, quiet solitude of the sea, he can at least keep his wildly fluctuating emotions in check, rendering his countenance oddly neutral, like blurring many vibrant colours together to make grey.

He had swum until his lungs burned from need to breathe and his muscles protested against the sudden, vigorous burst of exercise, but the pain felt good, like something to hold onto. His head still feels slightly fuzzy from the earlier lagers, and with this bombshell dropped into his lap, suddenly the entire world seems to have slid off its axis. The ocean, however, remains reassuringly consistent.

Bruce shuts his eyes as he replays the moment you told him over and over, somehow remembering each twist of your lips, slick with gloss as you stumbled over the words.

A baby. The prospect was so utterly bizarre, he had laughed when you finally managed to get the words out, but the look on your face when he did was all he needed to know to realise you were being completely serious. Bruce shuts his eyes as he recalls the swell of sheer, undiluted panic that expanded so suddenly throughout his insides, he was sure for a moment he was going to have a heart attack, right there on the sand.

_'I'm not ready'_ was the helpless thought, the root of both his and your gut instincts. This childish retreat of his into the soothing abyss seems to stand as a physical testament to how inadequate the responsibility of parenthood would be on the Australian- he can't even handle the _idea_ of a child. He did not know how long you had dithered over telling him, but the looming choice leaves him breathless.

The very future seems to be falling away, the very uncertainty leaving a gaping void. His wild youth that he so highly prized suddenly seems to be being pulled away from him, and irrationally, he initially responded with blame on you. He knows it isn't fair, yet the concept of fair is something for the rational, the detached. Groaning, the Australian rakes his fingers through wet hair, tilting his head back at the stars. His green eyes wonder back to the shore, the flickering lights of houses pinpricks in the gloom. Are you still waiting for him over there? Or did you storm home, angry and resentful? He could clearly picture your tears, smudged with black as they mingled with mascara, eyelashes wet and eyes beseeching and accusatory. A grimace crossed his face as guilt twisted inside him, a viper writhing in his gut. A wave rolls across him, water rippling past his neck, splashing his chin.

He must return. This he knows, even with his head still feeling heavy and dazed, both from shock and the lull of liquor thrumming hard through his system, though he'd never admit it- Bruce liked to think he could hold his drink.

_Don't be like the one who made me so old._

_Don't be like the one who left behind his name._

_'Cause they're waiting for you like I'm waiting for mine._

_Nobody ever came…_

The water feels suddenly chilly as he begins awkwardly paddling back towards the shore, unable to accurately judge the distance in his befuddled state- the more he swam, the more distant the shore seems to grow…a weird metallic taste perches on his tongue, making him gag. Bruce grunts in the back of his throat, wondering if he bit the inside of his mouth without noticing.

His muscular limbs cleave through the water, yet a cool ribbon of water twists beneath the surface of the increasingly large waves, tugging him back like a hand yanking on his ankle. The current fights him as he moves, salt water stinging at his eyes. He cannot even see where the shore is- he wasn't paying attention, but the current has carried him further away than he realised. Bruce feels the hot tendrils of panic coiling around him as he notes that the sea is no longer quite so tranquil- a stirring seems to be happening all around him, the watery surface rippling and swirling like a curtain in a high wind.

_I feel afraid and I call your name._

_I love your voice and your dance insane._

_I hear your words and I know your pain._

Unable to see where he's going now- the only light is the moonlight streaming down on him, Bruce lets out a jagged cry as his thigh pierces a rock, lying unseen beneath the glittering waters. As he yells, salt water floods his mouth, choking him. His eyes water as he pumps his arms and legs furiously, desperately trying to break free of the current. Another wave comes, washing over him, buffeting him, pushing him under. Bruce takes in a deep gulp before he is forced under, his eyes streaming from the pain in his thigh. Arms thrash, clawing towards the surface, as if he may grip a ribbon of moonlight piercing the surface of the waves, and hoist himself back up.

The waves flood across the shore, the tide consuming anything that is left lying in its wake. Bruce screams your name one last time, his throat raw from the choking, gagging breaths of air. His fingers grope pointlessly for something, anything to hold on to. The rushing of the water is so loud, and despite his mind screaming at him to hold on, just a little longer, his body is tired, so tired…

A cry rings out across the emptiness of the beach. He screams your name, salt stinging his throat, before he is again pulled under, his hand stretching up towards the shimmering surface…

Bubbles break the surface of the waves before they, too, are swept away.

~

They never do find him. They call him a missing person. His leather bracelet washes up on the beach one day, a present from you, bought one weekend trip, a long time ago. They hesitate to say "death", but murmurs of accidents reach your ears. Once or twice, you hear 'suicide'. You say nothing, but you wear the bracelet around your neck. All you know is that your boyfriend disappeared into the ocean one fateful night, and he did not come back.

You try to stop yourself searching for him. You know that he is lost.

You know that you are, too.

_Asleep in the sand with the ocean washing over…_


End file.
